Frostbite
by Little Cinch
Summary: It's deep in bitter winter, and Carol is having difficulty dealing with the cold. Rating is strictly for language.


The cold was starting to seep into their bones. Nights had been bitter for the last two weeks, unusual for Georgia winters, even this far north. Most of the time, the small group of survivors managed to find some kind of shelter for the night, whether it was a barn, hunting lodge, gas station, or even just a public park bathroom. Tonight, though, they were forced to camp outdoors, struggling as best they could to keep warm tucked against the base of a steep hill under cover of some straggly white pines. The fire was as large as they dared make it, but it wasn't enough to drive away the cold – it felt good on the skin, but the warmth didn't penetrate.

Most of the group had finished supper and were settling down to get some rest. Carol finished cleaning up their dishes, carefully packed everything, and loaded it all into the pickup. They never left anything out anymore if they could help it, in case they had to make a hurried escape. They'd lost nearly everything they had when they'd abandoned the farm and couldn't afford to lose what little they'd collected since.

She could feel Daryl's eyes follow her as she bustled around the campfire. It made her anxious when he watched her like that. Their relationship had been volatile on the farm – one minute tentatively caring or sweet, the next explosive. And ever since the night they'd fled the herd that destroyed the farm, the caring had evaporated. He was distant and cool when he bothered to speak to her at all. They had settled into an uneasy holding pattern. Not friendly, but not antagonistic, either - just cold.

By the time she finished and was ready to bed down, nearly everyone was already sleeping, except for Rick who was on watch. And Daryl... Daryl was still watching her.

She pulled her blanket out of the pickup and found a place as close to the fire as she could get. There really wasn't enough room for her with the others already there, but she could sleep with her feet toward the fire at least. Since the weather had turned she hadn't been able to keep her feet warm. Her hands, either, but she could at least warm those a little on her neck or tuck them into her armpits. Her feet, though, were icy cinder blocks jammed into her boots. They wore their shoes all the time now. Like with their gear, they couldn't afford to be caught unprepared to run. The pain was getting worse, but since there was nothing she could do about it, she just kept her feet to the fire and ignored it.

The ground beneath her sucked at her body heat, pulling away any warmth that got to her from the campfire. She shivered under her blanket and curled tighter around herself.

A soft whistle caught her attention. She picked up her head and saw Daryl beckoning to her with a twitch of two fingers. Annoyed that he hadn't just come over to talk to her, she got up and picked her way through sleeping bodies. She sat next to him so they wouldn't wake the others talking too loudly.

He was rubbing down his crossbow and bolts with a cloth, but that apparently didn't take up much of his attention, because he was still watching her. His expression was impossible to read, but she got the feeling he wasn't happy.

After a few moments looking at her in silence, he finally put down his weapons and spoke.

"You been limping."

She considered denying it, but knew that would just start a fight. So she shrugged instead.

"You been hobblin' around for a while now, and it's gettin' worse," he elaborated.

She focused her eyes on the fire so she wouldn't have to answer.

Irritated, he turned to confront her directly. "What's goin' on with you? Did you get hurt, and you ain't tellin' nobody? Typical."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His words put her on the defensive.

"It means you're always the one doesn't get taken care of around here! I ain't blind, you know. I see when you give Lori or Carl half your food. You always take the thinnest coat, the shittiest blanket. You let them crowd you away from the fire. You're gonna get yourself killed with this bullshit. This weather ain't no joke. And now you're hurt on top of it, but you won't let anyone help you." He kept his voice low, but anger gave it an edge.

"I'm fine. They need more food than I do."

"You need food to keep warm. You need a decent fuckin' coat and a warm blanket. Now what the fuck is makin' you limp?"

She let out a frustrated sigh. "My toes hurt. It's the cold, I think. Can't do anything about it, so there's no use complaining."

"What kind of hurt?"

"What do you mean what kind of hurt? They hurt! My feet are freezing and my toes hurt!"

Daryl stood suddenly, and took a firm hold on her upper arm. He yanked her up and half dragged her to the pickup.

Opening the passenger side door, he shoved her toward the cab. "Get in."

"Daryl, I'm not-"

"Get in."

His voice raised enough that Rick glanced over at them from where he stood on the hillside keeping watch.

Temper rising, Carol climbed into the pickup's cab. He shut the door and walked around to slide in the driver's side. Leaning across, he dug a flashlight from the glove box.

"Get your feet up here." He waved the flashlight at the seat next to him.

"Why?"

"Because I'm gonna look at your goddamn feet, that's why, now get 'em up here."

She glared at him and considered just leaving the truck and going back to the fire, but she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't do this just to be an ass. He _was_ being an ass, but it was coming from a place of concern. Probably.

Leaning back against the passenger door, she picked her feet up and stretched her legs across the bench seat. He unlaced one of her boots and started to pull it off her foot. She hissed as the boot came free - the pressure on her skin caused a searing flash of pain.

"That hurts?" he asked, eyebrows up.

She nodded. Her toes were throbbing now with a strange sort of tingling numbness. They felt like they belonged on someone else's body.

Very gently, he peeled off her sock, turning it inside out so as not to drag the thin wool across her skin. She gritted her teeth. When her foot was bare, he flicked on the light and shined it down. Her stomach dropped when she saw it. She hadn't taken off her boots in several days – not since the last time she changed clothes. Her toes were numb then, but not painful, and they had been a waxy white.

Now they were red, and the skin was swollen and shiny looking. At the tips of some of her toes were dark spots – maybe purple? They looked like blood blisters. And now that she didn't have the boots squeezing down on them, they felt like icy balloons.

Daryl stared down at her toes and breathed hard through his nose.

"What in the hell were you thinking?" he snapped. "This is serious shit! You know you can lose toes if this gets worse, right? Get blood poisoning, gangrene? This could fucking kill you, dammit! Jesus, what's wrong with you?"

"Stop yelling at me! You don't get to yell at me anymore!"

He jerked back at her tone and stopped.

"I'm not a damn punching bag anymore," she mumbled. Despite the cold, her face was hot.

He looked at her for a long moment.

Growing uncomfortable in the silence, she changed the subject. "So what do I do about it?"

"Looks like nasty frostnip, not frostbite – that's good. Gotta get your feet warm and keep them from freezing again. Gotta warm them up slow, though." As he talked, he loosened the other boot.

He bared her other foot and peered at it with the light. It was the same as the other.

"We need to get you more socks – better socks – and bigger boots, so there's room to insulate. These ones are so snug, it's making things worse. I'll find a place tomorrow – get them and another coat. Maybe some gloves. And a hat. There's gotta be more blankets around somewhere."

Despite being annoyed, she had to smile a little. This was why she was drawn to him even though he was an ass.

Then, to her surprise, he lifted his shirt and rested the soles of her feet against his ribs.

"Balls!" he grunted as her icy feet touched him. He shuddered, but didn't push her away. He put the shirt back down over her feet and wrapped his hands carefully over them.

They sat for some time in silence - her leaned up against the passenger door, him against the driver's door. Eventually his warmth started to seep into her feet. As the circulation returned, the pain increased dramatically. She clenched her jaw. There was no way to avoid it, so she just had to get through it. She'd had plenty of practice at that. After a while, the pain stopped getting worse. It didn't get any better, but at least it wasn't worse. Her toes throbbed to the beat of her heart. She wasn't sure how she was going to get her boots back on.

Daryl stirred.

"You gotta take better care of yourself. Everyone else can fend for themselves a little. At the very least, tell me if you need somethin' so I can help you."

The anger was gone, and he seemed genuinely concerned for her. His eyes remained guarded, but were softer now. She nodded. For him, she'd try.

After a while, Carol dozed. Though not particularly comfortable, the cab of the truck was warmer than sleeping on the ground, even with the fire. At some point in the night she floated into consciousness. She could feel one of Daryl's thumbs stroking her ankle as he held her feet close. He otherwise appeared to be asleep. The warmth of his body spread up from her feet to fill her chest. She let it soothe the pain as she watched his thumb trace slow circles until she drifted back to sleep.


End file.
